


My Name is Alexander Hamilton

by chanderson



Series: You Complete Me [1]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Drinking, Fluff, Hand Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Minor Character Death, Older Man/Younger Man, Whamilton - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-29
Updated: 2017-03-30
Packaged: 2018-10-12 12:14:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10490682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chanderson/pseuds/chanderson
Summary: Alex is starting to realize that he would do just about anything for George Washington.The story of how Alex and George met.This is the background for my stories Down for the Count and So How Do You Say 'Help Me?' that I'm now officially creating a verse for in this series (You Complete Me). Hope you enjoy!





	1. Dates 1 and 2

**Author's Note:**

> Like I said, this is the story that provides background for my stories Down for the Count and So How Do You Say 'Help Me." It's the 'official' first work in the verse. This is un-beta'd so any mistakes are my own.
> 
> I hope you enjoy. Comments are always appreciated!

Alex is leaning forward in his desk, staring at the visiting lawyer giving a lecture on something—history of the American judicial system maybe? He’s an engaging speaker and Alex can tell he’s really enjoying himself, but Alex can’t bring himself to pay attention. Alex is _way_ too busy alternating between staring at his ass and his face. He’s got these nice, tight dress pants on and his ass looks absolutely amazing. 

Alex blinks and rubs his eyes, tries his best to pay attention to what the guy is saying. His professor introduced him at the beginning, but Alex doesn’t remember what his name is. He was too busy looking at how adorable he is. 

He’s got some of the thickest damn eyebrows Alex has ever seen and his hair is high and tight with thick, small curls. Alex wonders what it would like if he let the sides grow out a little more. He’s not Alex’s usual type: He’s tall and muscular in a way that’s not intimidating but still incredibly hot. And he’s probably about 10 years older than Alex. 

Alex tries to get a glimpse of his left hand to check for a ring. He doesn’t see one. Nice. 

When the class is finally finished, Alex takes his time packing up, pretending to look for something on the ground. He keeps an eye on the guy out of the corner of his eye. He’s packing up his stuff in what looks like a nice leather satchel. Not overly expensive, but still fancier than anything Alex owns. 

He shakes hands with Alex’s professor, and Alex finally walks down the stairs and strides up to him. He’s wearing his best smile, the one that makes all the guys at the gay bars swoon.

“Hi. My name is Alexander Hamilton. I really enjoyed your lecture,” Alex says. His professor waves at the guy and leaves. They’re alone in the massive lecture hall. 

“Oh thanks.” He smiles and Alex notices a small gap in between his otherwise perfect teeth. It somehow adds to how fucking adorable this guy is. He’s even taller up close and Alex feels small in a good way. 

“I came in late and didn’t catch your name, though,” Alex lies. He’s obviously not about to tell the dude he doesn’t remember his name because he was too distracted staring at him. 

“George Washington.” He shakes Alex’s hand, and his palm is soft, but Alex can feel calluses on his fingers. 

“Nice to meet you,” Alex says as they start walking out of the room. “What firm do you work for Mr. Washington?” Alex flutters his eyelashes a bit, trying to judge whether or not they’re batting for the same team. George’s pupils dilate and he licks his lips. Alex watches his eyes rake over his body, a quick up and down. _Perfect_. 

“George,” he says firmly. “Mr. Washington is too stuffy. And I have my own firm: Washington, Lafayette, and Franklin. We do a lot of work for people who can’t afford a big, fancy lawyer.” 

He’s hot _and_ a good person? Alex could fuck him right here. 

“That’s awesome,” Alex says with a smile. “I didn’t know there were private law firms who did stuff like that.” George nods. 

“We’re the first. It’s a relatively new idea in law. it’s mostly for people whose incomes are too high for free, pro-bono lawyers, but not high enough for an expensive private firm.” 

They’re aimlessly walking down the mostly empty hall; the next class time has already started. 

“Hey you wanna grab something to eat?” Alex asks suddenly. “On me.”    
George looks at Alex, cocking his head and pursing his lips. 

“Yeah that sounds nice. Thanks.” He smiles again and Alex melts a little on the inside. 

“Awesome. There’s a really good Caribbean soul food place on Columbus Avenue. It’s a really good little place, family owned and all of that.” 

“Sounds good to me.” 

“So, how’d you get the idea for your firm?” Alex asks as they walk toward Columbus Avenue. It’s chilly outside, so he zips up his jacket. 

“It’s kind of a long story.” George chuckles.

“I’ve got time.”

“Alright, well, I was working at this private firm, but I wasn’t very happy with it. I mean, I did good work—I represented people in malpractice suits—but it just wasn’t fulfilling. I watched these people fork over their savings to get represented by us. They were already hurting from the medical bills, and now they had to pay for an expensive lawyer because they were wronged by their doctor? It didn’t seem fair.” 

“So you just decided to make your own firm? That’s pretty bad ass.” 

“Basically, yeah. It was actually kind of dumb though. Quitting with no actual Plan B is kind of stupid. I was just fed up, you know? I’d just met with this woman whose husband died because a surgeon botched a surgery. She was so upset and I felt so guilty for even making her pay to sit there and consult with me. Her husband was _dead_ and she was here trying to get what was rightfully owed to her, but she barely had the money for it. She told me she had to sell her house after her husband was put in the hospital. He had a chronic illness. I couldn’t do it anymore, so I quit as soon as she left.” George shrugs and smiles sheepishly. Alex whistles in appreciation. 

“That’s really cool.”

“Eh, I was still pretty new at the firm. I’d only worked there for about a year. And that was, hm, two years ago now.” 

Alex is looking at him, trying to puzzle together exactly how old he is based on the timeline, and George must sense it because he laughs. “I went to Georgetown, did a stint in Iraq, got discharged, and came home and went to law school at Harvard.” 

“Damn you’ve done it all then.” Ex-military makes a lot of sense—the muscular build, the haircut. Alex has always had a soft spot for men in uniform. “I thought about joining the military, but then I got a scholarship to Columbia, and well, I couldn’t really pass that up.” Alex shrugs and holds the door open for George once they reach the restaurant. 

“You got a scholarship?” He sounds impressed and Alex smiles proudly. 

“Yep. Went there for my undergrad and then got into the law school.” The waiter seats them and Alex picks up his menu. He can feel George’s eyes on him, an intense gaze that makes Alex flush a little. He looks up and meets George’s eyes. They’re a dark brown, kind of like dark chocolate. “You know what you want yet?” Alex asks, still meeting George’s eyes. George finally looks away, staring down at his menu.

“Um, probably the baked chicken.” 

“Good choice.”    


George nods and takes several long sips his water, draining half the glass. Alex watches his Adam’s apple bob up and down in his throat. George puts his water back down and takes a deep breath. 

“Sorry; my mouth always gets super dry after I give a lecture.”

“Do you give a lot of lectures?” George nods.

“Yeah. I travel all around. I do them on lots of different topics, too. The one I gave today is my favorite, though.” George smiles and Alex wishes his could take a picture. He hopes he never forgets George’s smile. 

“How come?” Alex subtly moves his leg under the table and presses his knee against George’s. George is looking at Alex and his eyes darken, pupils dilating like they did earlier. Alex smirks as George looks away, flustered. 

George clears his throat and pulls his fingers through his hair nervously. “I like talking about judicial history. History has always been an interest of mine.” Alex arches his eyebrows and smiles.

“Yeah? I love history. Especially American political history.” 

“I’m guessing you’re involved in politics?” 

Alex is about to answer when the waiter comes. They place their orders, but Alex doesn’t take his eyes off of George. When the waiter leaves, Alex leans forward on his elbows.

“To answer your question from earlier, yes. I’m very involved in politics.”

“Do you want to pursue politics after school?” Alex shrugs and pulls a face. 

“Oh man, you just broke cardinal rule number one. Don’t ask me what I’m doing with my life, because I have no idea.” 

“Does anyone? I still don’t really know what I’m doing with my life. I mean… I do, but I don’t.” George shrugs. “No one ever knows anything. That’s one thing I’ve learned.”

“I guess it’s good that we’re all just making shit up as we go along. At least it’s not just me.” 

They lapse into a comfortable silence, and Alex takes the time to study George again. George looks up from where he was sending a text on his phone and smiles a little playfully. 

“Do I have something on my face?” 

“Nah. You’re just nice to look at.” Alex smiles flirtatiously. George looks down at his lap, a sheepish smile on his face. 

“Thanks.” George pauses and chuckles, pulling his fingers through his hair again. “Sorry. I’m really bad at flirting.”

“That’s okay. It’s actually really cute.” 

Their food comes and they talk about all sorts of stuff. Alex explains his thoughts on the gentrification of Brooklyn, and George talks passionately about the problems with the war in the Middle East. Alex makes George try some of his food; he holds his fork out to George jokingly, and to his surprise, George leans forward and eats it off his fork, smirking. 

When they’re finished, Alex insists on paying. George lets him, but he pays the tip. Alex notices that he leaves a big tip, almost 50 percent. So money’s definitely not a problem for him. 

They go outside and start walking back toward campus; their shoulders brush every so often and it makes Alex smile. He hasn’t had this much fun in a while. Being around George is easy. 

“So, do you always pick up visiting lecturers?” George asks. Alex laughs. 

“No, not usually. But you were too adorable to pass up. And you didn’t have a wedding ring.” Alex shrugs. “Then when I saw the way you looked at me when I walked up, I knew you were most definitely into guys.” Alex waggles his eyebrows. “You were actually pretty easy to pick up.” 

“I’m impressed Alexander.”

“Yeah, well, everyone has their talents.” A particularly cold gust of wind comes and Alex shivers, hugging himself tightly. “Jesus it’s so fucking cold.” George immediately puts his arm around Alex’s waist and pulls him close.

“Better?” Alex leans into George and nods.

“Much better. You’re not so bad at this whole flirting thing.” 

“I’m not completely hopeless, you know.” 

They walk back onto campus and George comes to a stop. “My car is parked right over there.” George points to a nice Mercedes SUV. Practical and not too flashy, but still expensive. That must be George’s thing—rich dude who keeps it on the down low. That’s respectable. 

“Right. Thanks for letting me buy you lunch.”

George still has his arm around Alex’s waist and hasn’t made a move to remove it yet. Alex glances up and George is nervously grinding his teeth, his jaw moving almost imperceptibly. “Do you want my number?” Alex asks.

“Yes,” George says, breathing a sigh of relief. “I was gonna ask, but I didn’t want to seem weird.”

“I could tell. Here, give me your phone.” George finally lets go of Alex and digs his phone out of his pocket. Alex quickly creates a new contact. “There you go.” 

“Thanks.” George hesitates, fiddling with the strap of his messenger bag. “I’ll call you?”

“No one calls anymore, old man,” Alex says. He immediately cringes. “Not that you’re old,” he tacks on quickly. “Sorry. I can be a bit crass sometimes. I have like no filter.” 

“It’s okay. I am kind of old. 34.” George pulls a face. “I feel like I was just 24 and then one morning I woke up and a whole chunk of my life has gone by.” George glances away, does the teeth grinding thing again. “Sorry. I overshare sometimes.”

“I like it. People are rarely honest with each other. I’m 24, almost 25.” Alex shrugs. “The age thing isn’t weird for me. Very few things faze me.” George lets out a breath that comes out as a delicate white puff. 

“I’m good; it’s not weird for me either.” George rubs the back of his neck. “So I’ll text you then.” Alex nods and gives him a thumbs up. 

“You got it.” Alex leans in and gives George a quick hug. “I’ve gotta run to class. Thanks again.”

George grabs Alex’s wrist gently to hold him in place and gives him a chaste kiss on the cheek. It’s so old-fashioned and cute that Alex almost drops to his knees and offers to suck George off right there. 

They part ways. Needless to say, Alex pays absolutely no attention in his next class. 

*******

As soon as George gets in the car he calls Martha. He’s practically buzzing, giddy with a feeling he thought he’d never get to feel again. 

“Are you on call tonight?” George asks as soon as Martha picks up. 

“No; I only had one surgery scheduled this morning. Why? Are you okay?” George hates that she’s become accustom to answering calls from George when something’s wrong. 

“Yeah, yeah. I’m great. Are you busy?”

“No. I’m just catching up on some reading. There’s a new book on cell regeneration I’ve been meaning to get to.” 

“Boring. Come over and hang out. Then we can go out for drinks tonight.”

“Why? Don’t you have work?” 

“Because,” George says exasperatedly. “We never get to hang out anymore. I’ll make you dinner and then we can go to a bar and get drunk. I gave a lecture this morning so I’m off the rest of the day. We’re never free at the same time. We should do something. Don’t make me beg, Martha.” 

“Are you _sure_ you’re okay, George? Because if you’re trying to deal with something by drinking then you need to tell me so we can talk it out.” 

“Martha; I’m fine. Can’t I be in a good mood? I thought that’s what you wanted.” 

“I just had to check, George.” There’s rustling on the other side of the phone. “Yes I’ll come over and yes we can go out for drinks. I’ll be at your place around 4 okay?”

“Perfect,” George says happily. “See you then.” 

When George gets home he immediately changes out of his clothes. He carefully hangs them up, double checking that his pants are folded neatly along their pleats. Satisfied, he changes into a pair of black joggers and a red t-shirt. 

He flops down on his couch and tries to read some of his book on the Rwandan Genocide, but his mind keeps wandering back to Alex. His big, pretty eyes and raven hair. It smelled so nice, kind of fruity. George contemplates texting him but doesn’t want to seem too forward. Alex might think that’s lame. 

After his eyes glaze over a paragraph for the 3rd time, he sets his book down and turns on the news. He idly scrolls through Twitter. 

After what feels like forever, his front door opens and he sits up, smiling when Martha walks in. He gave her a key after he bought the place.

“Hey stranger,” she says. 

“I can say the same to you.” 

She playfully shoves at his head after sitting on the couch next to him. 

“Oh shut up. It’s not my fault that people can’t stay safe or refrain from shooting each other.”

“Any interesting cases lately?” George lays down in her lap. She nods. 

“A guy came in impaled on a pole.”

“Holy shit. That’s disgusting. Did he die?”

“Nope. I won’t go into details because I know you’ll zone out, but I was able to save him.”

“You deserve the World’s Best Trauma Surgeon Award,” George quips. Martha laughs and pushes her fingers through his hair. 

“Thanks George.” George smiles and closes his eyes. He’s contemplating on whether or not he should tell Martha about Alex. He wants to tell her so badly that it’s about to kill him, but he doesn’t know how she’ll react to the fact that Alex is basically 10 years younger than him. 

“If I tell you something will you promise not to judge me?” George says slowly, sitting up to face Martha. She narrows her eyes. 

“George, what did you do?”

“It’s not bad,” George says quickly. “I promise it’s not bad.” 

“Okay. I’ll try my best not to judge then. You know you can always tell me anything.” She pats George’s cheek gently. 

“Well, I sort of… met someone today.” George is suddenly nervous, his stomach twisting into knots. He starts grinding his teeth, but Martha is nodding and encouraging him with her eyes, so he continues. “And, uh, he asked me out to lunch. And then he gave me his number.” 

“George, honey, why would I judge you for that? That’s great,” Martha says enthusiastically, grabbing his hand and squeezing it. “Tell me all about him. How’d you meet? Did he just come up to you and ask you out?”

“Well, I met him after I gave my lecture today. And yes, he did just come up and ask me out. He’s very forward, which I like.”

“What’s him name? Oh George, I’m so happy for you.”

“His name is Alexander. He’s really handsome—nice big eyes and the most beautiful hair. He’s really fucking smart too. I could listen to him rant about politics all day.” 

“Is he a professor? Because if he is then I’m super jealous. I’ve always wanted to date a hot professor.” George looks away and starts grinding his teeth again. 

“Well, not exactly…” 

“What do you mean? George, look at me.” Martha reaches over and gently taps his chin. He manages to meet her eyes. 

“He’s a student.” George screws his eyes shut and waits for Martha to start ranting at him for dating someone so much younger than him, but she’s completely silent. George opens his eyes back up and watches her warily. “Remember, you said you wouldn’t judge me.” 

“I’m not judging you. I just want you to be careful; make sure this guy isn’t asking you out for the wrong reasons.” George bristles and crosses his arms. 

“I don’t think he asked me out for my money, Martha.”

“You don’t know that.” 

“Yes I do,” George snaps. “I do.”

“You’ve been on one date with him. How would you know?”

“I just know okay?” George gets up from the couch and goes into the kitchen. He braces himself against the counter and turns his back to the living room. He takes a few deep breaths. “You told me you wouldn’t judge me.” 

“I’m not judging. I’m just worried.”

George’s shoulders sag and he turns around to look at Martha. She’s still sitting on the couch, her expression neutral. 

“I know. It’s just, well, this is the first good thing to happen to me in a long time, and I don’t want to start jumping to negative conclusions. I need something good to happen to me. Don’t you think I deserve something good?”

“Of course I do. You know that.” Martha motions him back over to the couch, and he goes willingly. She pulls him into a tight embrace once he sits down. “All I want is for you to be happy, George.”

“Thanks,” he says softly. Martha releases him from the hug and smiles.

“How about we cook some dinner and then go get super trashed at a shitty bar?” George throws his head back and laughs. 

“Sounds like a plan.” 

\---

The bar is crowded, and George has to lean close to Martha so she can hear him. He’s practically shouting over the music and talking.

“I haven’t been to a bar in forever,” he says in Martha’s ear. She laughs and takes a long sip of her beer. George opted for something stronger and ordered a whiskey sour. He’s already on his third. Martha is still on her first beer, and George has the sneaking suspicion that she’s not getting drunk so she can keep an eye on him. 

“Me neither. We spent so much time in them back in college. Every time I visited you, you would take me to a different bar.” 

“Hey, Georgetown was fun and Johns Hopkins probably wasn’t nearly as fun. I had to make sure you had at least _some_ fun in college. As your best friend, it was my job,” George says. Martha smiles fondly and knocks her shoulder against George’s.

When he finishes his drink, he turns to the bartender to order another, but Martha puts her hand on his arm. 

“Don’t you think you’ve had enough George?”

“I’ve only had three. I think I can handle a little more. Things are better now, Martha. I promise.” George orders his drink and eagerly tips it back, draining half in one sip. 

“At least slow down a little.” 

George rolls his eyes. “You need to learn to loosen up. Have a little fun.” George turns back to the bartender. “Hey, can she get an amaretto sour? Put it on my tab.”

“George,” Martha sighs.

“You and I are getting drunk off our asses. Just accept it.” George hands Martha her drink and she finishes off her beer before sipping on her new one. 

“I forget how stubborn you are.” 

“After we finish these we should bar hop. I know a good place about a block from here.” 

“I’m having some intense deja vu.” Martha laughs. 

“Yeah, yeah. Finish your drink,” George says impatiently, a mischievous smile on his face. 

They walk down to the next bar, dodging confused tourists. George is pleasantly buzzed, and he has a big smile plastered on his face. He hasn’t felt this carefree in what feels like years. 

They weave through people standing around talking and dancing. The bar is packed tight, hot from all of the bodies. George can already feel himself starting to sweat. He barely misses being knocked over by a couple intensely grinding, and Martha laughs at him as he stumbles into a big, muscular guy who makes George look small, which is saying something. 

When they manage to make it to the bar, George immediately orders them a round of tequila shots. Martha pulls a face. 

“Jesus George. You know tomorrow is Tuesday and we both have work. Do you _want_ to be hungover?”

“Don’t worry about tomorrow.” George promptly takes his shot, puckering his face after he drops his lime onto the bar. “Another round please. Two for me.” 

“ _George_ ,” Martha says exasperatedly. “You’re going to kill me.” 

“Nah. You’ll be alright. And if you’re not, good thing you work at a hospital.” Martha rolls her eyes. “Hey, I’m sure one of your fellow doctors would be willing to lend a hand.” 

They both throw back the shots, and George grins. 

“You know you’re not supposed to mix alcohols.” 

“Oh my God Martha. _Chill_ ,” George says, sighing dramatically. He orders himself a beer. “There, you happy? I’m slowing down.”

“You count drinking a beer as slowing down?” Martha raises her eyebrows and shakes her head. 

“You were way more fun in college. You’re getting old.”

“George, we’re the same age.”

“Yeah, but I’m still fun.”

“I beg to differ,” Martha says. George feels himself deflate, but tries to laugh it off. He smiles weakly and halfheartedly chuckles.

“Yeah,” he says. “Whatever.” He shoves her playfully and finishes his beer in one go, chugging it. Martha is looking at him with something akin to pity in her eyes. 

“Look, George, that wasn’t—”

“It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.” He orders himself a double whiskey neat.

“No, seriously. I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Martha,” George says firmly. “It’s fine. Just drink with me, okay?” 

After he finishes his whiskey, George’s head is properly fuzzy and the room is spinning in just the right way—not enough to make him puke. But he can tell if he drinks any more he’ll definitely be the guy throwing up outside the bar. He’s been that guy too many times to count, and he would prefer not to be him again. 

“Hey, you wanna go?” George slurs. “Lets go back to my place.” 

“Yeah, s’hot in here,” Martha says. She’s not nearly as drunk as George, but she still has this little sloppy smile on her face. 

They stumble out of the bar together, giggling. Martha wraps her arm around George’s bicep as they weave across the sidewalk. Everything is tilting and George has to stop for a second.

“I can barely feel my feet hold on,” George says. 

“That makes absolutely no sense, but somehow I know exactly what you mean,” Martha says with a loud laugh. George grins and leans against the nearest building. 

“This wall is probably going to give me a million diseases. New York’s so dirty.” George takes a deep breath of the cool air and nods. “Okay. I think I’m good.” 

“If you think you’re going to throw up, make sure it’s not on my feet. These are my favorite boots, and I never get to wear them.”

“Because you never go out?” George retorts. 

“Oh fuck off. It’s not like you go out any more than I do.”

“Hey, I went on a date today. So I’d say the score is me one, you zero.” George stumbles over a crack in the sidewalk and he flails his arms before Martha manages to steady him. 

“I should’ve let you fall,” Martha grumbles. George laughs loudly. 

“You love me too much to do that.”

“Yeah whatever.”

\---

George is helplessly trying to open his door, but the keyhole is moving back-and-forth and his hands feel too big for the small key. He clumsily shoves it toward the hole and groans when he misses it again. 

“For the love of Christ let me do this.” Martha snatches the key from him and squints at it. She carefully opens it. 

“Beginner’s luck,” George mutters. 

George stumbles over to his couch and falls down on it. Martha goes into the kitchen and gets two bottles of water. 

“Drink some of this,” she orders. George rolls his eyes, but he unscrews the cap and takes a couple of long drinks. 

“Wow that’s good. My mouth was so dry.” 

“Okay, you need to tell me more about Alexander,” Martha says. She scoots up close to George and he can smell the alcohol on her breath. 

“He’s so fucking hot.” George sputters and laughs. “Like the hottest guy ever. I mean, okay, actually that’s George Clooney, but Alexander is a close second.”

“One, I can’t believe George Clooney is your celebrity crush—”

“That man aged like fine wine,” George interrupts. Martha smacks his arm. 

“ _Two_ ,” she says with fake annoyance. “I can’t wait to meet him. If you go on three more dates then I get to meet him.”

“Deal,” George agrees, bobbing his head in an enthusiastic nod. He grabs the remote for the speakers and turns on some music. “I think you’ll really like him. He’s so smart. I think he should run for political office. His thoughts on the gentrification of major cities and its effect on low income people were so interesting. And his opinion on immigration reform. Honestly, listening to him talk politics was the hottest thing ever. I haven’t had a good political conversation with a guy since, well, you know.”

“Don’t think about him,” Martha shoves at his chest gently. “We’re talking about Alexander.”

“Right.” 

George suddenly remembers the new contact Alexander made in his phone and immediately perks up. “Holy shit, should I text him?”

“You’re going to drunk text a guy you just met?”

“ _Yes_. I love drunk texting.”

“You’re so stupid, and I can’t believe you’re a grown man. But I’m not going to stop you.”

George grins and pulls his phone out. He has to close one eye and squint at his phone, but he finally manages to open a new message to Alex. 

_[George] Hey! I know its super lame to text u the same day u give me your number but I couldnt help it. YOu’re so cue._

_ [George] This is George by the way… Probably shouldve said that _

George knows there are typos, but he’s too lazy to fix them. He sends the message and grins at Martha. 

“I’ll tell you what he says.” George sets his phone down and nods his head to the song playing. “You haven’t told me anything about you. Got any hot dates lined up?” George raises his eyebrows up and down and smirks. 

“I’m too busy for dating,” Martha laughs. “Being a surgeon is a little intense, you know.”

“What about that other surgeon? The brain guy?”

“Charles Lee?” Martha makes a face. “He ended up being super weird. And then he got caught up in this whole malpractice suit. I wasn’t feeling it.”

“Aren’t there any other hot doctors? I thought that was a thing?”

“Maybe in TV. Most doctors are a bunch of crusty white guys.”

“Ew.”

“I know right?”

“And a lot of them are a little racist and a lot sexist. So I’m shit out of luck.”

“I guess they’ve never tasted some good dark chocolate then.” George grins and Martha smacks him on the arm. 

“You’re the worst.”

“I mean it’s true.”

When George’s phone vibrates he jumps and immediately swipes it open. 

_ [Alex] Hey George! Drunk on a Monday night? Not lame at all _

_ [George] That obvious ? _

_ [Alex] I’ve drunk texted enough to know! _

_ [George] You wanna go oUt sometime this week? Im free wednesday _

_ [Alex] :-) I’d love to. I’m going to go on and assume you won’t want to drink (sorry old man I doubt you bounce back that easily) We can get some dinner and go for a walk or something _

_ [George] Ouch!! That one really hurts Alexander _

_ [George] But yeah that sounds good! I can pick u up. Just tex me your address  _

_[Alex] That’s ok. I’ll meet you.. I’ve got a late class on Wednesday so I probably won’t go home. I’ll do some thinking and pick us out a good place to go!_

_ [George] Ok sounds good! See u then :-) _

Martha is craning her neck over to try and look at George’s phone. 

“Well?” she says impatiently. “What’re you talking about?”

“Nothing.” George puts his phone away. “I just asked him out to dinner Wednesday.”

“Ooo, George. You’ll have to let me help you pick out an outfit.”

“This feels like high school and college all over again.” 

“All you need is a head full of hair and big glasses.” 

“Lets see, you need a nose ring. And, hmm, you had short hair.”

“Damn, that’s right. My mom was so pissed when I got it cut like that. She said it made me look like a boy.”

“Which it totally didn’t. It was hot. You should wear it short again.”

“You know that would honestly be easier for scrubbing in. I wouldn’t have to twist my hair up inside my scrub cap. I might think about it.”

“You should _totally_ do it.”

“Well, you should grow your hair out. It was cute longer.” George pulls a face. 

“Nah I don’t think I could do that again. I like it high and tight.” 

“Well you should at least let your stubble grow out a little.” Martha reaches over and rubs his cheek with her thumb.

“I love that we’re drunkenly giving each other fashion advice. I don’t think I’ve ever felt more stereotypically gay in my entire life.” 

Martha busts out laughing. She shakes her head and pats George’s cheek. 

“You should be drinking your water.” She motions to George’s mostly full bottle. Hers is almost empty. George scowls and drinks some of his water. 

“Yes Mom.” 

“Oh hush, you know you love me.” 

“Yeahhh.” 

George yawns. The room is still spinning a little, but it’s moving past the point where it’s fun. He’s getting the sick feeling low in his stomach that happens when the alcohol starts to catch up to him and the appeal of the buzz wears off. It happens every time.

“Tired already?” Martha smirks. 

“Fuck off. I’m starting to feel kind of sick. I might go to sleep.”

“You’re getting old,” Martha says in an imitation of George’s voice. He rolls his eyes. 

“You can sleep in the bed if you want. The couch is comfortable but kind of small. And I’m way too tired and drunk to try to figure out the pull-out couch.” 

“Thanks.” George nods and stumbles into his bedroom. He collapses down on the bed in his clothes and starts to curl up. Martha comes over and shakes his shoulder. “You need to change out of your clothes.” 

“Nah. I can sleep in these joggers. They’re comfortable.”

“Well at least take your shoes off.” George grumbles under his breath and starts trying to toe his shoes off without moving. Martha heaves an exasperated sigh. “Just stop. I’ve got them.” Martha tugs on his sneakers until they come off. “This is _just_ like college. Every time I visited we ended up just like this.”

“Mm yeah,” George slurs. “You can borrow a pair of my boxers and a t shirt if you want. You know where everything is.” 

Martha changes and goes into the bathroom. George’s eyes are drooping closed, and he’s trying his best to ignore the unsettling sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. 

Martha comes out of the bathroom a few minutes later with his small bathroom trashcan lined with a Duane Reade bag. 

“Definitely just like college,” she says ruefully. 

“Sorry,” George breathes. “I’ll clean up anything.” 

“I know you will.” She plugs his phone in and presses a cool hand to his forehead. “I love you George, and I had a really good time tonight. Thank you. It was good to see you so happy.” 

“Love you too.” George closes his eyes. “Glad you came with me. I miss you.” Martha smiles and leans over to kiss his forehead. 

She flips the light off, climbs into the bed, and tugs on the blankets. George groans as the blankets move underneath him.

“Get under the blanket George.” George makes a whining noise, but does as he’s told. Martha’s laying with her back to him and he can feel the heat radiating off of her. He knows he’s going to get hot in his sleep with his pants on, but the thought of moving is so nauseating that he just curls up and falls asleep.

\---

George is on a boat pitching in the waves. He recognizes it as the fishing boat his father used to take him on as a boy. Every summer they would go deep sea fishing, which George hated. Fishing was boring and he was always afraid their boat would sink—swallowed up by a massive, towering wave. It filled him with a shaky, sick anxiety. He couldn’t leave Lawrence; Lawrence needed him. Their mother wouldn’t be able to take care of him like George could.

His father always told him to man up. When they went fishing with his father’s friends and their sons, his father would snap at him and tell him that he was embarrassed that George was afraid of the boat. It always made George cry, which only made his father angrier. 

The waves are churning around the boat, and the sky is a dark, angry gray. Thunder rolls in the distance and lightning illuminates the sky in a bright flash. George looks around for his father, but he can’t see him. George realizes he is on the boat alone. 

Anxiety claws at his throat as he starts trying to bail the water splashing onto the deck. The boat sways dangerously back-and-forth, and George slips on the slick deck. He struggles to grab onto something to keep himself from falling, but the waves are towering above him and the boat is rocking so violently that George is amazed it hasn’t split in two. George is desperately trying to hold onto the side of the boat, but his fingers start to slip. A wave crashes into the boat and George lets go. 

George gasps and sits up so fast that the back of his head hits the headboard with a loud thwack. He still feels like he’s on the boat, his equilibrium off. His head is swimming and the room spins in slow, dizzying circles.

The human body is a miraculous thing, because it seems to be two steps ahead of his muddled brain. Without really registering what he’s doing, he leans over the side of the bed and does his best to throw up into the trashcan. He tries to lean down and pick it up so he can hold it in his lap, but he can’t reach it. He coughs and throws up again, his throat and nose burning. 

“George?” Martha sits up and groans. “This is why you don’t mix your alcohols.” She slides out of bed and goes around to George’s side of the bed. “Jesus George you’re supposed to throw up inside the can not on it,” she mutters. She holds the trashcan by the fingertips of one hand and hands it to him. He groans and gets sick again, which he thinks is fucking ridiculous. He can’t possibly have anything else inside of him to throw up. 

“Sorry,” he manages to gasp. “The boat was rocking too much.” 

“What?” Martha looks at him bewilderedly and shakes her head. “Actually never mind. I don’t want to know. Lets go to the bathroom okay?” She helps him stand up, but he shrugs her hands off after he’s standing. 

“I’m okay. Just go back to sleep.” He stumbles toward the bathroom, trying not to throw up again. He immediately drops to his knees and hunches over the toilet. 

“Whatever. I’m not going to be able to sleep with your gross puke noises, but I’ll leave you here so you can suffer alone.” Martha flips the bathroom light on and leaves the door open, but she goes into the main room. The TV is turned on to what sounds like the news. 

George is sick on and off for a solid hour. He most definitely hasn’t been this sick since college, which is incredibly depressing. He didn’t drink nearly as much as he did in college, and yet here he is. He really _is_ getting old. 

He feels absolutely disgusting. He’s drenched in sweat, his skin is clammy, and his t-shirt and pants are smeared with his own vomit, which feels like a new low.

On a rational level, he knows he should get up and try to take a shower, but the bathroom tile is so nice and cool against his cheek that he opts for just laying on the floor and not moving. 

“I see you’re finished emptying your insides.” Martha walks into the bathroom and he can practically feel the judgement rolling off of her. He makes a groaning sound in response. She walks over to him and makes a disgusted noise. “Ew, George, you could at least flush the fucking toilet.” She leans over and flushes it for him. The sound makes George’s head pound. 

“Sorry,” he says meekly. He’s embarrassed that someone else is witnessing this, even if it is Martha, who’s seen him in just about every awful situation he’s ever been in. “You can go. I’m okay.”

“Are you kidding me? I’m not going to just leave you laying in a heap on your bathroom floor. Come on, at least let me help you get into the shower. You’re covered in vomit and it’s really disgusting.”

“It’s a new low,” George says softly. Even the sound of his own voice is making his head hurt. 

“You’re damn right it is.” Martha squats down next to him. “Can you get up? I’m sorry, but I kind of really don’t want to touch you.” 

“Yeah. I can get up.” 

It takes some effort, but eventually George manages to get off the floor. He sits down on the closed toilet and peels his soiled shirt and pants off. “I kind of want to burn these clothes and never see them again.” 

Martha snorts as she twists the knobs in his shower on. “I don’t blame you.” 

“I’ll clean up after my shower. I think I sort of threw up on the floor.”

“And the blanket,” Martha says matter-of-factly. “You have really bad aim.”

“I was disoriented,” George says defensively. 

“Oh whatever. Just get in the shower.”

“How are you not hungover?” George grumbles. 

“I guess I just hold my liquor better than you.” Martha smirks and shuts the door behind her.

George plans on taking a long shower, but standing up is making him tired and he still feels like he might throw up, so he gets out after half-heartedly rubbing some body wash over himself. He gets dressed in a t-shirt and sweat pants and drags himself out of the bedroom.

Martha is sitting on the couch drinking what smells like coffee and eating a plate of scrambled eggs. She raises her eyebrows and smirks at him when he walks by. 

He goes into the kitchen to get some water and Advil. “I made some breakfast,” she says from her spot on the couch. 

“I know. I can smell it,” he mutters. The smell of eggs is making his stomach churn uneasily. 

“I can make you something if you want.” George glares at her murderously. 

“Don’t joke with me. I’m not in the mood.” He sits down at the breakfast bar and lays his head down on his folded arms. Martha walks up and rubs his back. 

“I’m sorry. You’re just a little pathetic right now and it’s kind of funny.” George groans.

“I need to go clean up my room. I can’t believe I threw up on my fucking carpet.”

“I can.” Martha laughs and sets her dishes in the sink. “I have to head home so I can get ready for work. I really enjoyed last night.” George sits up and smiles weakly. 

“I did too.” He stretches and rubs his eyes. “What time is it?” Martha looks at her phone.

“About 8.” George pulls a face. 

“I’m calling in sick and going back to sleep.” 

“I’d say that’s a good idea.” 

George slides out of the chair so he can hug her, and she raises up on her toes to kiss his cheek. “Tell me how your date goes.” 

“Oh fuck. I forgot that I texted Alex.” George rubs his face. “Thanks Martha. See you later.” 

Martha leaves and George gets up slowly. When he looks at his phone he has a whole slew of notifications—emails, news updates, and a text from Alex.  

_[Alex] Hope you’re not feeling it too hard this morning!_

_ [Alex] You seem like a very cute drunk by the way _

George smiles despite how horrible he feels, and quickly replies. 

_[George] I’m feeling it pretty fucking hard. Maybe I am getting old :’(_

_ [George] And thank you… We’ll have to drink together sometime and I can find out what kind of drunk you are! _

Next George calls Lafayette. 

“If you’re calling to tell me you can’t come in today I’m going to kill you,” Lafayette says as soon as he answers.

“Sorry Gilbert. I’m calling in sick.”

“I’m going to go outside and personally rip your name off of the front of this building. George, I swear to God.” Lafayette takes a deep breath and slowly lets it out. 

“What the fuck is happening that’s so important that I need to be at work?” George lays down on the couch and closes his eyes. 

“The partners of that firm interested in merging with us are coming today! This has literally been on the calendar for _weeks_. What the fuck, George,” Lafayette says angrily. His accent always get thicker when he gets pissed, and George has to struggle to make out what he’s saying

“Sorry I’m sick,” George snaps. 

“How sick are you? Is this like a cough and snot thing? Because you can come and cough and blow your nose all over the office; I don’t give a fuck as long as you’re here.” 

“It’s more like a throwing up on the floor thing.” George feels a little guilty for forgetting about the meeting and getting shit-faced the night before, but just thinking about getting in a car and driving makes him want to die.

“Oh for Christ’s sake take some Pepto-Bismol and get your ass down to this office. I mean it George. I will come to your apartment and drive you here if I have to. Don’t test me.” 

“Okay fine,” George mutters. “I’ll be there in 45 minutes.” George hangs up and groans. 

He starts to get dressed when he remembers that he needs to clean. He very carefully strips his bed and tries his best not to either smell or look at the mess. 

Cleaning the carpet is a different story, and George almost throws up on the carpet all over again. Through sheer force of will he manages to keep it together and clean his carpet. Though, in his opinion, the carpet cleaner doesn’t smell much better than the vomit did. 

He finishes getting dressed and drags his ass to work. 

*******

“Okay, you know the guy I told you about yesterday?” Alex says around a mouthful of Thai noodles. 

“Duh. How could I forget?” John laughs. “You and Herc were sending so many texts to the group chat I thought my phone was going to explode.”

Their schedules always line up on Tuesday and they get to eat lunch together. Alex chose Thai food for today. 

“Hey, it’s not my fault that Herc is excited for his roommate to finally score a date.” Alex takes a sip of his water. “Anyway, last night he drunk texted me. I mean, how fucking cute is that?” Alex grins. “He’s like weirdly adorable but also really hot. I can’t explain it.”

“He’s also old. I never pegged you as the sugar daddy type,” John smirks. 

“Hey,” Alex says, stabbing his chopsticks in John’s direction. “I honestly don’t think he’s like that. He seems like the frugal rich type.” 

“Then what’s the point?” John laughs and Alex flips him off. 

“I’m serious; he’s so cute. He’s got this whole sensitive, sweet vibe that is _so_ hot, John.”

“Dude, you’ve been on one date and you’re whipped. You don’t even know anything about this guy.” 

“We’re going out again tomorrow for dinner. He drunkenly asked me to dinner last night.” 

“You think you’ll get lucky after? Maybe he’ll take you to his place. I bet it’s nice as fuck.” 

“Something about him tells me he isn’t the type of guy interested in casual sex.” 

“Ew. Boring. He really is old, then.” 

“I think it’s sweet,” Alex says defensively. “He’s an actual real, mature adult. I like that.” 

“Who are you and what did you do with Alexander Hamilton? Dude, you sucked some twink off in that gross ass bar bathroom last weekend after knowing him for literally 15 minutes. Since when do you want to settle down with some old dude?”

“He’s not old,” Alex mutters. “34 isn’t old.”

“It’s _older._ ” 

“Okay, well, sorry that I’m interested in finally growing up a little. I’m almost 25 and I have no fucking idea what I’m doing with my life.”

“You’re getting a law degree,” John retorts. 

“I’m serious, John. I feel like I need something steady in my life to keep me under control.”

“Or you could learn to control your impulses. Aren’t you not supposed to date people because you think they’ll fix you?”

“I don’t think George will _fix_ me. I think he’ll be good for me. Plus, who even knows if it’ll work out. I’m not going to jump to conclusions or get ahead of myself. He could turn out to be a big weirdo, but I don’t know, I’ve got a good feeling about him.” 

John shrugs and balls his napkin up before dropping it onto his plate. “Okay, whatever man. As long as you’re happy.” 

“I appreciate the support,” Alex says dryly. 

John motions for the check and hands the waiter his credit card without even looking at the amount. “Hey, dude, let me pay for my half,” Alex says, already reaching for his wallet in his back pocket.

“It’s alright; I got it.” 

“You got it last week. Look, man, I’m fine to pay for lunch. I just got my paycheck from the tutoring center. I’ve got money.” 

“Just let me pick up the tab, Alex. You have to pay rent.” Alex clenches his jaw and takes a deep breath. 

“I’m not some charity case, John.”

“Chill man. I know that. Doesn’t mean that I don’t want to pick up the check. I’ve got the money; just let me pay it.” 

“Fine. Thanks.” 

“No problem.” John looks at his watch and pushes his chair back. “I’ve gotta run to class. See you later, man. I’ve got a late shift in the clinic tonight, so I probably won’t see you until tomorrow.” Alex stands and gives John a half-hug. 

Alex doesn’t have any more classes today—he’s only got two in the morning on Tuesdays—so he’s free for the rest of the day. He’s got a whole stack of papers to read for class, but thinking about that fills him with a sick sense of dread. Instead he decides to go for a walk. 

He wonders what George is up to and contemplates texting him. After a few seconds of deliberation he opens up his texts.

_ [Alex] How you feeling? Still dead? _

To Alex’s surprise, he replies fairly quickly.  

_[George] I was going to call in sick but had to go in. Now I’m at a lunch with these partners from another firm who want to do a merger with us, and I feel like I might actually die (aka puke on the table)_

_ [George] These guys are so obnoxious. Big name droppers… Really boring and stiff. If my stomach doesn’t kill me then the boredom will. _

_ [Alex] I can call you and pretend there’s an emergency at your apartment building. Or that your parents are in trouble.  _

_[Alex] It works like a charm. I got out of taking a Con Law test doing that!  _

Alex isn’t expecting George to say yes, but he thought he’d offer. He’ll probably end up playing it off as a joke. It takes George a few minutes to reply.

_ [George] You should do it. Then we can hang out! _

_ [George] If you want to. We don’t have to. _

_ [George] Told you I was bad at this shit. _

_[Alex] Nah we can definitely hang out! I’m finished with classes for the rest of the day so I’m free :-)  _

Alex grins and dials George’s number. 

“Hello, George Washington speaking. May I ask who is calling?” Alex almost laughs at how fancy and important he sounds. 

“Yes, hello, Mr. Washington,” Alex says. “This is Franklin from maintenance. The woman living above you left her sink on and it overflowed. It flooded your apartment. If you can, I would suggest you come over immediately.”

“Shit!” George says, and Alex is impressed with the effort he puts into sounding surprised and upset. “I’ll be there right away thanks Franklin.” George hangs up and Alex grins. 

A few minutes later George calls him. 

“Did it work?” Alex asks. 

“Hell yeah. That was awesome. I can’t believe I’ve never thought to do that before.” 

“I’m guessing you weren’t a delinquent in school?” 

“Definitely not.” The phone rustles and Alex hears George opening and closing his car door. “Where are you? I’ll come meet you.”

“Corner of West 168th and Broadway. There’s a Starbucks I’ll be in.” 

“Gotcha. I’ll be there in half an hour or so.” 

Alex goes inside the Starbucks and orders a latte, winces at the price, and decides it’s worth it because his head is starting to feel a little fuzzy. He had trouble sleeping last night and ended up staying awake most of the night working on a series of essays on the effect that societal pressure to assimilate has on immigrants communities. He made a lot of good headway. He’s planning on trying to get them published after he finishes. Originally he planned on writing around 10 essays, but 20 essays later he’s still going strong. He pulls his laptop open and decides to do some more work to pass the time. 

His latte is long gone and his 21st essay is four pages longer when George texts him.

_ [George] I’m outside _

_ [Alex] Cool be out soon! _

Alex gathers his stuff up and hurries out the door. He spots George’s car and opens the shiny door. For a second, he realizes that he probably shouldn’t be getting in the car with a man who is basically a total stranger, but Alex rarely listens to reason, so he shuts the door and buckles up. 

George’s car is probably the cleanest car Alex has ever been in. The leather is comfortable, obviously nice. He wonders how much this cost and whether or not George has more cars. He doesn’t seem like the type to own more than one car, Alex decides.

“Nice car,” he says. “It’s really clean.” 

George laughs and puts the car in drive. “Thanks. I find that I feel best when the spaces around me are clean.” 

“Me too. I’m just lazy.” Alex studies George’s profile, and decides that it’s damn nice. George looks over at him and smiles. His eyes are hidden behind a pair of sunglasses. Alex grins. “Nice sunglasses. Although, there’s not _that_ much sun out.” 

“It doesn’t matter. The light is painful. _Everything_ is painful. I haven’t been this hungover since I was an undergrad. I still haven’t been able to eat anything today.”

“That’s rough. I remember those days fondly. That was me like last weekend… And the weekend before.” 

“Nope. I’d be dead.” 

“You are such an old man.” Alex watches a smile twitch at the corners of George’s mouth. “But enough about how you’re old and your body hates you, what’s this about your firm merging with another one?” 

“Oh God, are you sure you want to hear about this? I mean, I could complain about this for hours.” 

“I’ve got nothing but time.” 

“My friend Martha never wants to hear me complain about my job. I can’t believe you would willingly subject yourself to this.” 

“I know, I’m the total package,” Alex says with a grin. “But before you begin your epic complaining, where exactly are we headed?”

“I thought I’d drop my car off at my place and then we can go for a walk in Central Park. I live really close to it.” 

“Where do you live?” 

“East 67th.” 

Upper East Side. Makes sense, Alex thinks.

“Cool. If you want, you can start complaining now.” 

“Okay, well, first of all these two guys are absolute pricks. And I knew one of them back in school. How fucked up is that?”

“Which firm is it?”

“Jefferson and Madison LLC. It’s Thomas Jefferson, who I went to school with back in Virginia, and his puppy James Madison.” George rolls his eyes. 

“They sound like rich assholes.”

“They’re your typical Southern good boys. I honestly don’t understand why they’re so interested in merging with our firm. They don’t exactly seem very progressive or interested in helping people.”

“Maybe they’re setting themselves up for something. It would make them look appealing to Southern Democrats and even some of the Rust Belt and all of those square states out in the Mid-West.”

“You think they’re using us to set themselves up for a political run?”

Alex shrugs. “Could be. It would be nice to secure a Republican Senate seat in Virginia. Right now they’ve got two Republicans. Virginia Republicans have been pushing hard to try to turn the state red. And the presidency is one easy step from there if they’ve got a wide range of support.” 

“You’re amazing. I guess I was too stupid to realize that.” George swings his car into a spot in front of a cream-colored townhouse. “Is it okay if I run upstairs and change? You can come up if you want.”

“Sure I’d love to. And you’re not stupid for not realizing that. You weren’t looking at the whole picture. You seem like more of a details guy.” Alex slings his bag over his shoulder and follows George into the building.

His apartment is exactly how Alex pictured it would be—obviously expensive and nice, but comfortable and not too flashy. It’s a studio, and the main room has a nice black granite countertop kitchen with a breakfast bar, tall ass ceilings, and a fireplace. The walls are all white, which makes the whole place feel nice and bright. 

“Feel free to help yourself to something to drink. There’s some stuff in the fridge and the glasses are in that cabinet right next to the microwave,” George says as he goes down a narrow hallway that must lead to the bedroom. 

Alex walks around the room; it’s not huge, but it’s still a nice, open space. It’s very fitting. And much bigger than Alex’s tiny, dark, shitty apartment. Alex drops down on the couch and sinks back into it, sighing in appreciation. It’s a very comfortable couch. 

Alex could get used to spending time here. 

“You didn’t want anything to drink?” George walks into the room in a pair of slim-fit black jeans that look too good to be legal and a tight blue t shirt. “Alex? You okay?”

Alex realizes he’s been staring and promptly looks up at George and nods. “Yeah, yeah. Sorry. You just, uh, you look good.” 

“Oh thanks So do you.” George sits down on the couch next to him and pats the soft leather. “Nice couch isn’t it?”

“Yeah it’s super comfortable. Honestly, your apartment is exactly what I pictured it would be like.” 

“What’d you mean?” He turns and faces Alex. 

“I mean, it’s obviously not cheap, but it’s also not super flashy or fancy. It’s comfortable.”

“I didn’t want too much space. I grew up in a really big house as a kid, and it always made me feel lonely. I can’t imagine how sad it would be to live in a huge place completely alone.” 

“Yeah I know what you mean.” Alex doesn’t add on that the only time he’s been in big houses was when he was a kid and his mother had to take him with her when she cleaned houses. “You said you grew up in Virginia? I was trying to place your accent. It’s barely noticeable, but it slips out sometimes.”

“Ugh I know. I hate it. But yes. I did grow up in Virginia. It was a nice place to grow up. I would never go back, though. I wouldn’t want to ever live there again.” 

“Why?” George’s jaw tightens.

“Oh you know.” he shrugs. “A lot of memories there that I’d rather forget.”

“Yeah I know the feeling.” 

“Did you grow up in New York?” George rubs his eyes and stifles a yawn.

“Kind of. I lived in the Dominican Republic until I was 13. Then my mom and I moved to New York.” 

“Does your mom live in the area? I know the Heights has a big Latino population.” Alex looks away and shakes his head. 

“No she died shortly after we moved here. I grew up in the foster care system.” George is quiet and Alex can already picture the stupid look of pity people always give him reflected in George’s eyes, but when Alex finally looks back at George, his expression isn’t anything close to pity.

“At least you got yourself out of there. You said you got a scholarship to Columbia right? That’s really impressive. _You’re_ really impressive.” 

Alex flushes at George’s praise. He’s looking at Alex like he just hung the moon and stars. 

“I just wrote some essays. It wasn’t that special. Anyway, you wanna go for that walk now?” Alex changes the subject swiftly and hops off he couch. He holds his hand out for George. “Want some help, old man?” 

George rolls his eyes but takes Alex’s hand anyway and pulls himself up. 

“Let me just grab my jacket.” George trots back down the hallway and reappears a few seconds later shrugging on a black peacoat. 

George locks the door behind them and pockets his keys. They start walking to Central Park, side-stepping tourists as they go. “That’s the worst part about living here. Tourists tend to spend a lot of time around here,” George says after someone asks them for directions for the second time. Alex shrugs. 

“Do you spend a lot of time in the park?”

“I like to run here in the morning and sometimes I’ll sit outside and read, but I don’t have much free time to just sit around.” 

“Yeah me neither. My friends are always forcing me to go outside and leave my desk. There’s just so much stuff to do.” 

They walk side by side, their shoulders and fingers brushing every few steps. Alex can tell that George wants to hold his hand, and normally Alex wouldn’t be into hand holding on the second date—because he’s assuming this counts as a date—but everything seems to go a little differently with George. Alex glances up at George and notices him nervously grinding his teeth. “You know you can hold my hand if you want,” Alex says gently. 

George looks down and his whole face lights up. “Yeah? I don’t want to seem too forward or, well, too weirdly old and out of the whole dating loop.” Alex laughs and grabs George’s hand, lacing their fingers. 

“I’m not usually into hand holding—”

“Then we don’t have to,” George says quickly. Alex squeezes his hand and shoots him a look.

“ _But_ , as I was saying, I want to hold your hand.”

They walk slowly, and George gently swings their arms. It’s a beautiful day: A perfectly clear, blue sky with a nice breeze. The air is just crisp enough to feel fresh, but not too cold like it was yesterday. Parents speed by them wheeling their children packed into strollers and teenagers sucking down cheap cigarettes give them moody glares from their spots on the benches.

“You wanna sit down over there?” George asks after a while, motioning to a mostly empty spot under a big tree.

“Yeah sure.” George tugs him over to the tree and lays down in the grass once they get there. Alex sits near his head and leans back on his hands. “You seem to be feeling better.” 

“I am, yeah. I should probably try to eat something eventually.” George closes his eyes and Alex watches him for a few minutes before laying down next to him. He slides up close to George so that their shoulders are touching. 

“Sleepy?”

George rolls his head over to look at Alex and he smiles lazily. 

“Honestly? I could fall asleep standing up right now. This patch of grass will definitely do the trick. I should probably get up so I don’t fall asleep.” 

“Nah, we can lay here for a little bit. It’s nice.” 

“When I fall asleep, don’t say I didn’t warn you.” George closes his eyes and his mouth relaxes. Alex reaches down and takes his hand. 

Alex knows that he needs to seriously chill with George. He barely knows him, and he’s 10 years older than him. Plus, Alex gets the impression that George has some heavy shit he’s dealing with. Alex doesn’t know if he wants to bring that into his life. He can barely deal with his own problems; how is he supposed to deal with a guy who has an extra 10 years of problems under his belt? 

But George is also gentle, sweet, and kind in a way that Alex isn’t used to. He’s honest and sensitive, vulnerable in a way that makes him less intimidating than he may have otherwise been. He also smells nice, has soft hands, and looks hot in everything he wears. Alex can only imagine what he looks like _under_ those clothes. 

Alex lets George sleep, listens to the gentle in-and-out of his breathing. He’s still holding George’s hand and Alex’s hand is starting to get sweaty, but he doesn’t want to let go. 

He starts to doze off when he hears George wake up, feels him pull his hand away. 

“What time is it?” George sits up and rubs his eyes. Alex glances down at his watch. 

“A little after 5:30.”

“Fuck. I need to do some research for a case. Do you think it’s possible to get fired from the firm you created?”

“Probably?” Alex laughs and reaches over to brush some grass out of George’s hair.

“Well I should probably try to get some work done then.” George stands and stretches his arms above his head. His shirt raises up and Alex can see the patch of dark hair on his stomach that trails down below his waistband.

“That’s no problem. I need to be doing some work too. We still on for dinner tomorrow?” Alex stands and mirrors George’s stretch.

“Definitely. I’ll text you if something comes up, but we should be good to go.”

“Cool, well, I’ll see you tomorrow. You can pick me up tomorrow at 7 outside the law school.”

“Sounds good. Thanks for today.” 

“Anytime.” 

George smiles and hesitates a few seconds before leaning in and kissing Alex gently. His lips are soft and warm, and Alex misses them as soon as George pulls away. It’s the most chaste first kiss Alex has ever had with a guy, but it’s also the best. 

Alex stands on his tip-toes to return the gesture. He adds a little more pressure but keeps his mouth closed. If George wants to take it slow, then Alex can do slow. 

Alex is starting to realize that he would do just about anything for George Washington. Maybe John is right—he _is_ whipped. 

The subway would take less time, but Alex decides to walk so he can take some time to think. Maybe Alex shouldn’t see George tomorrow. When was the last time he went out with a guy three days in a row? When was the last time he held hands with a guy? Alex hasn’t had an actual boyfriend in so long, and he’s started to get used to that. Hookups are easy and fun. He’s got a guy he sleeps with pretty regularly, but it’s nothing more than sex. 

Then again, maybe it really is time for Alex to start getting serious with his life. He can’t fuck around forever. By the time he climbs the steps to his shitty apartment, he’s decided to take it one step at a time with George. What happens, happens. If things start to move too fast, he’ll just tell George that they should chill out. Alex feels like George isn’t interested in throwing himself into a relationship too fast either. 

Alex can’t stop thinking about George long enough to get any work done. Again. If he ever makes a cliche pros-and-cons list, his inability to focus on literally anything other than George would definitely go in the cons column. 


	2. Date 3

“Okay, so red tie or blue tie?” George holds up the light blue tie to his chest and then the red one. 

“Is that the blue one with the little white dots.”

“Yeah. The red one is plain.

“Definitely don’t do red. I hate power ties. The blue one is cute… Do you have anything in a more fun color? Maybe a green or a purple?”

George and Martha are FaceTiming so Martha can help him get dressed for his date. She _insisted_ she help him get ready. 

“Yeah I have both of those colors. Hold on.” George sets his phone down and grabs the ties out of his drawer. “You know, should I even wear a tie? Maybe I should go back to the sweater layered over the button down shirt?”

“Okay, yeah, that did make you look really good. Try that one again.” 

George nods and pulls the charcoal sweater on top of his shirt and straightens everything. 

“Don’t forget to leave the button down untucked.”

“Yeah I got it.” George picks up his phone and shows Martha his reflection in the mirror. “Well?”

“Definitely wear that.”

“Okay now what shoes?”

“Do a pair of sneakers. Make it more casual. I doubt you two are going to some upscale restaurant.”

“Yeah that doesn’t seem like Alex’s style. Alright, let me go get my shoes.” He picks out his favorite pair of sneakers and pulls them on. He picks his phone up and walks in front of the mirror again. “Good?”

“Perfect.”

“Thanks for helping me.”

“You knew I was going to help you. No way I let you go on your first super official date in like a hundred years without giving you any advice.”

“I’ll call you tomorrow and tell you how it goes. Good luck on your surgery tonight.”

George hangs up and nervously checks himself out in the mirror again. Before leaving, he puts on some cologne and brushes his teeth again just for good measure. 

The drive to the law school doesn’t take long and George is a few minutes early, but Alex is already waiting on the curb for him. He looks good in slim khakis and a red sweater. 

“Hey” Alex smiles when he gets into the car. 

“Hi. Did you have a good day?” 

“It was alright, yeah. Here, I put the directions to a parking lot near where we’re going in my phone. It’s not too hard to get to.” Alex hands George his phone with Maps pulled up, buckles up, and settles his backpack in between his legs on the floor. “What about you?”

“We had kind of a contentious meeting about Jefferson and Madison, which sucked, but aside from that it was good.”

“What happened?” 

“Gilbert and I got into a screaming match, which really sucked.”

“Gilbert?” Alex interrupts.

“Gilbert Lafayette. He’s the one who started the firm with me. We brought Ben Franklin, the other partner, in a little later,” George says. “I felt bad about it—he’s one of my best friends—but he was being so damn irritating. He’s so fixated on this merger, but I really don’t think it’s a good idea. The more I think about what you said, the more I realize how misplaced their intentions are. They’re not in this for the same reason we are.”

“I’m sorry. Honestly, it’s Gilbert’s fault if he can’t see that these guys are just using you guys. You shouldn’t jeopardize everything you’ve worked so hard on. These guys could really fuck you over.” 

“That’s exactly what I said. It’s really frustrating.” George pulls into the parking lot and kills the engine. “But enough about my work. Where are we?”

“We’re a few blocks away from where we’re eating, but we’re in the Heights. There’s this awesome Dominican place over on St. Nicholas Avenue. Their food is almost as good as my mom’s.”

“Oh cool. I’ve never really had Dominican food.” 

“It’s a lot like Cuban food only way better.” 

George smiles and falls into step beside Alex. To his surprise, Alex reaches down and takes his hand. “I’ve got so many good restaurants to show you. I hope you like food,” Alex says.

“I had no idea you were such a food connoisseur.”

“I just know good food when I taste it. Good, cheap food. It’s the best kind of food.” 

Alex tugs him to a little restaurant that looks like it may or may not be up to code. George looks at it skeptically. 

“This is the place?” George looks at Alex and furrows his eyebrows. “You sure you don’t want to go somewhere a little…” George trails off, unsure of what exactly to say.

“Nicer? More expensive?” Alex narrows his eyes and pulls his hand away. “Look, man, before this goes any further, you’ve gotta understand that I’m not exactly rolling in the dough okay? So if your rich ass can’t deal with that then we should probably part ways now.” 

George holds his hands up in mock surrender, shaking his head quickly. 

“No, no. Alex, it’s fine. You’re fine. I don’t, money isn’t important to me. I don’t care.” Alex’s eyes are flashing; it’s like he’s challenging George to a fight. “I’m serious, Alex. I didn’t mean to offend you. I’m really sorry,” George says helplessly. Alex narrows his eyes, but he slowly relaxes and the tension leaves his body. 

“Okay good,” he says firmly. “Lets go then. I promise you’ll like it.” Alex stalks off toward the entrance, and George follows after him, confused and a little anxious.

Alex is already standing at the counter when George walks in. 

“Dos mofonguito chicharron con pollos por favor,” Alex says. Then, turning to George, “you’ll like it. Promise.” Alex reaches into his pocket for his wallet, but George puts a hand on his arm. 

“You paid last time,” he explains as he hands over his card. “Tonight’s on me. I’m the one who asked you out for dinner, so it’s only fair that I pay.”

They sit down at small, metal table and put their number card in the middle of the table. “So, what exactly did you order for me?” George asks, trying to ease Alex back into a good mood. 

“It’s basically a twice-fried plantain with chicken stuffed inside and salsa on top. I think they spice the plantains with garlic, too.” 

“That sounds good.” George knocks his knee against Alex’s gently. Alex nods and takes a sip of his water. He’s still brooding, eyebrows drawn. George sighs and leans forward on his elbows. “Look, Alex—”

“I’m not some charity case that you have to take care of, okay?” Alex interrupts, practically snarling. “That’s not why I asked you out, or why I like you. You shouldn’t feel like you have to buy me stuff just because you have money and I don’t. This isn’t going to be like some fucking sugar daddy shit.” 

George blinks, momentarily taken aback. 

“I know that,” he says slowly, choosing his words carefully. “I still want to buy you meals, though. It’s only fair that I pay sometimes too. We can divide it up, alright?” 

“Okay. That’s fine. But remember, I’m _not_ your little immigrant charity case.” Alex looks him right in the eyes, daring George to challenge him.

“I know you’re not. I’ve never thought of you like that.” George stares right back.

“Good.” Alex nods and flickers his eyes away. “I just needed to make sure you weren’t in this so you could feel good about yourself. I’m not in the mood for the whole ‘taking in a poor immigrant kid and showing him the world’ thing. I’ve got a friend kind of like that and it’s so infuriating. I’m like his token, poor immigrant friend.” 

“I’m sorry. That’s not very fair to you.”

“Tell me about it. He’s like a fourth generation Puerto Rican, and I think he feels some sort of weird guilt for not being in touch with his ethnicity, you know?” Alex says, launching into an angry tirade. “I mean, he’s this rich dude from South Carolina. His dad’s governor, or maybe a senator—I forget which one—so he’s absolutely rolling in the dough. He’s so out of touch it’s laughable. Sometimes I think he became friends with me just so he could vindicate himself as a Latino. He doesn’t even know Spanish, which is _fine_ , don’t get me wrong, but it’s annoying. He acts like he relates to me and my struggle as an immigrant, but it’s just different, you know?” Alex shakes his head and takes a long drink of his water. “Sorry; that was a lot.”

“No, it’s okay. I’m glad you got that off your chest. Have you tried talking to him about it?” 

“Oh trust me, I’ve tried. John is so fucking infuriating sometimes. He thinks he knows everything.”

The waiter comes and sets their food down and takes their number. Alex perks up a little when he leans over to smell his food. “Okay, tell me what you think.” 

George takes a bite and nods. It’s damn good. 

“This is really good. You’re right; it’s better than Cuban food.” 

“And you were skeptical. Looks can be deceiving, Wash.” 

“Wash?” George raises his eyebrows and laughs softly. Alex nods and chews his food. 

“You’re the kinda guy who needs a nickname.” 

“But you’re not?” 

“I’ve already got one. People call me Alex, but my name is Alexander. Duh. Of course, some people call me Ham or Hammie.” He shovels a fork full of food into his mouth. “And by some people I mean my friend Hercules,” he says, covering his mouth with his hand. 

“Wash,” George says, testing it out. “Yeah it’s not bad.”

“I know; I came up with it.” Alex grins devilishly, and George relaxes, glad that his bad mood is gone. “Anyway,” Alex continues. “You should tell me more about yourself.” He pauses to think and absently chews on his fork. “I told you about one of my friends, so tell me about one of yours.” 

George smiles and nods. “Sure. My best friend is Martha. We grew up together in Virginia and ended up serving in the military together.” 

“Did you go to college together?”

“Nah. She went to Johns Hopkins and I went to Georgetown, but she came and visited me a bunch. I visited her sometimes, but I didn’t like being so far away from home, so she usually came to see me. Plus, I had way cooler friends than she did.” 

“I thought you said you didn’t like where you grew up?” George swallows his bite of food and frowns. 

“Yeah, I just needed to be close to home. My brother was sick.” George clears his throat.

“I’m sorry,” Alex says a little awkwardly. George shakes his head.

“It’s fine. But, uh, yeah. Martha is awesome. She works at NYU Langone. She’s the one I got drunk with yesterday. You’ll like her.” 

“Ooo you’re already planning on introducing me to your friends? I must be special.” Alex flutters his eyelashes and laughs. 

“Yeah I’d say you’re pretty special.” Alex flushes and George watches the tips of his ears turn pink. “And you’re really cute when you blush.” 

Alex’s cheeks are burning pink and George can’t help the grin that stretches across his face. 

“Oh shut up.” Alex throws his napkin down on his plate. “You ready?” George nods and stands up. 

“Do you wanna go back to my place for a little while?” George asks. “I mean, I’d understand if you have school work to do, though,” he adds on quickly. “Don’t feel like you’re forced to spend time with me or anything.”

“George,” Alex says gently. “I _like_ spending time with you. I never go on three dates in a row with a guy. Ever. Yet here I am. You don’t have to be so nervous. Loosen up, Wash.” 

“Sorry. Like I said, I haven’t dated in a while.” George looks over at Alex and his chest feels almost painfully tight. He hasn’t felt this carefree or happy in at least a year. It’s nice to finally feel something other than anger or sadness. 

When they get to George’s apartment, Alex makes a beeline for the couch. George laughs and trails after him. “I see you like the couch?”

“I’ve been thinking about this couch all day.” 

George sits down and Alex stretches out, laying his head in George’s lap. 

“Hi,” George says. He gently threads his fingers through Alex’s hair. It’s as soft as he thought it would be. He hums contently. “You have such beautiful hair. I like it when you wear it down.” 

“Thanks. I think about cutting it like everyday because it can be super annoying, but dudes love it for some reason, so I guess I’ll keep it.” 

“Definitely keep it.” George keeps playing with Alex’s hair, letting it sift through his fingers. 

Alex looks up at him through hooded eyes. “Who’s the guy in that picture with you on your mantel? I keep staring at it. He’s handsome.” Alex motions with his head over to the fireplace and George’s blood runs cold as a bolt of anxiety shoots from his head to his toes. Alex must notice because he reaches up to cup George’s cheek with one of his hands. “Hey, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. I was just wandering. I didn’t mean to pry or anything.”

“No; it’s okay. That’s my brother, Lawrence.” 

“The one who got sick?” Alex asks quietly. 

“Yeah. He died my senior year of college. That’s our last picture together. It was the summer before my senior year.” George starts to grind his teeth. “I should move that picture. I don’t normally have very many people here, but that’s kind of an awkward place for it,” George says, mostly talking to himself.

“You should leave it there. It’s a nice picture. You were very cute in college. I like your hair a little longer.”

“People keep telling me that,” George says, thankful for the change of topic.

“Just let the sides out and get it a little thicker on the top. It would be so cute.”

“I’m 34, Alex. I’m not exactly going for the whole ‘cute’ look.” 

“Fine. Your loss.” Alex sits up and sticks his tongue out. 

“You sound just like Martha. You guys are going to get along so well. God, both of you together will definitely be the death of me.”

“Shit. I hope your old heart doesn’t give out.” Alex tugs on George’s arm until he’s laying against Alex’s chest. George hesitates before shifting around and curling his legs up. Alex’s arms wrap around him and he slowly relaxes. 

“Hey now, my heart doesn’t feel a day over 30.” 

Alex laughs and George hears it rumble in his chest. “Keep telling yourself that, Wash.”

George smiles and hums in response. Alex’s heartbeat is steady in his ear and its starting to make him drowsy. 

“I feel like I’m about to fall asleep. I’m doing a really bad job of proving that I’m not some decrepit old man.” 

Alex presses a soft kiss to the top of George’s head. 

“I don’t care.” Alex is quiet for a few moments before he squeezes George gently. “Hey, just so you know, I’ve really enjoyed being with you the past few days. I’d like to see you again, if you’re down for that.”

“I’d love to.”

“Maybe we can get lunch this weekend.”

“How about I cook us dinner Saturday? We can just hang out here, eat some food, and drink.”

“That sounds great.” 

George yawns and checks the time on the TV box. It’s getting late.

“Hey, I would love for you to stay, but I should probably try to get some sleep.” Alex’s arms tighten around him and he makes a whining sound.

“I hate having a life. I just want to lay here.” Alex laughs and lets go of George. “But yeah I’ve got an 8 a.m. tomorrow. I should sleep.”

George sits up and stretches. “Want me to give you a ride home?”

“Oh, uh, no that’s okay. I can walk and take the 6th. It'll be fine.” 

“Walk? Alex it’s late. I don’t want you out walking alone this late.” Alex rolls his eyes.

“I’m a big boy, Wash. I can handle myself.”

“Alex. Please.” George looks at Alex pleadingly. “It’s dangerous.”

Alex heaves a sigh. “You’re not taking no for an answer, are you?” Alex asks.

“Absolutely not.” George grabs his keys and holds the door open for Alex. Alex sighs and makes a show of dragging his feet on his way out. 

“You seriously don’t have to do this. I could just take the 6th. I doubt it would take like any time.”

“Just let me do this, okay? I know you can get yourself home, but I’d rather know that you’re safe.”

“Fine,” Alex mutters, sinking down in his seat. “Let me put the address in your phone.” George hands him his phone and Alex quickly types it in. He shoves the phone back into George’s hands. “Before you say anything about where I live, it’s _fine_. People make it out to be way more dangerous than it actually is because they’re a bunch of racists. El Barrio isn’t even bad. East Harlem gets a bad rap."

George can’t help the wince that passes across his face, but he quickly schools his expression back to neutral. 

“I know. I like Spanish Harlem.” George glances over at Alex and he gives him a terse nod. 

“It’s the only place I could afford. The Heights is so fucking gentrified now that I couldn’t afford to live there.”

“You don’t have to explain yourself, Alex. I’m not judging you. I won’t judge you for anything as long as you don’t judge me. Deal?” Alex narrows his eyes. 

“Deal. Unless you do something super embarrassing. Then I get to judge you _and_ make fun of you.” George laughs and nods. 

“Of course. I wouldn’t want to deny you the simple pleasures in life.” 

When George pulls up to Alex’s building, he carefully parallel parks and tries his hardest not to look nervous. The street is dark, void of street lights. The buildings are a little dilapidated, and there are three big guys sitting on the stoop of the walk-up across the street. 

“It’s East 109th, George. It could be worse.”

“No, I know. It’s fine. I’ll just wait until you get inside.” 

“If that makes you feel better then that’s fine. Sorry I’m such a hard ass about stuff. I don’t mean to be. I just… I have to look out for myself you know? I can’t assume people are going to treat me with respect. Especially not people like you.” 

“It’s okay. I understand.” George leans over the console and kisses Alex. “I had a lot of fun tonight,” George says against Alex’s lips before kissing him again. Alex’s tongue pushes into his mouth, and George sighs. 

“I did too,” Alex whispers before kissing along George’s jaw. George is already, embarrassingly, half-hard. When Alex bites his earlobe he nearly whimpers. Alex chuckles darkly and noses George’s neck. He starts to suck a bruise over George’s pulse point.

“Alex,” George gasps. “You need to stop.”

“Why?” Alex says against his neck. He kisses George again and sucks George’s bottom lip into his mouth, pulling it gently with his teeth. 

“Alex, I’m serious,” George whines. 

“I could suck you off right here,” he whispers into George’s mouth. “I know you’d like that.” Alex reaches over and gently traces the outline of George’s cock in his jeans. George groans and fists his hands in Alex’s shirt. 

“Why didn’t you do this back at the apartment?” he says gruffly. He pulls Alex into a bruising kiss that’s all teeth and sloppy tongues. 

George blindly reaches over and kills the engine. Alex is kneading his cock over his jeans, and he’s painfully hard now, straining against his jeans. 

“Let me make you feel good, George,” Alex whispers as he starts to ease George’s zipper down. “Lean your seat back and relax. I’ll use my hand if you want. That might be easier.” Alex licks a stripe along George’s neck and George feels his cock twitch.

“Okay, okay,” he gasps. He fumbles with his button and finally pops it open. He sighs in relief as some of the pressure is released. 

“Lean your seat back, baby,” Alex practically purrs. “I can’t wait to see your cock. I’ve been thinking about it. The first time I saw you I wondered how good your big cock would feel inside me.”

“Jesus, Alex,” George gasps. Alex deftly pulls George out of his pants and George hears him gasp. 

“Oh George, you’re even bigger than I thought. I can’t wait until you fuck me, baby.” Alex goes to lick his hand, but George grabs his wrist. 

“Let me."

George sucks each of Alex’s fingers into his mouth, enjoying the way Alex’s shiny, swollen lips fall open as he moans. George finishes off with two long swipes of his tongue along Alex’s palm. 

When Alex starts to stroke him, he arches his back and groans. He’s already close, can already feel the warmth pooling in his stomach. Alex pumps his hand quickly. The obscene sound of skin slapping skin is loud in the otherwise silent car. Sweat is pouring down George’s face, and he’s starting to pant in short bursts. 

“Let me see you come, baby,” Alex says. “Come for me.” Alex thumbs George’s slit, and George’s vision goes white as his cock pulses. Alex cups one hand under George’s cock and tries to catch the mess as he strokes George through his release. 

George sprawls out bonelessly in his seat and closes his eyes. “Alex,” he says breathlessly. “That was so good. You’re so good.” George cracks his eyes open and quickly sits up. “Let me get you a napkin, sorry.” George shakily digs out a stack of napkins and helps Alex clean his hands. 

The bulge in Alex’s pants is painfully obvious, and George reaches over and pops open the button. “May I?”

“Be my guest,” Alex says, eyes fluttering closed. He leans his seat back as George pulls his cock out. He swirls his thumb through the precum pearling at the tip. 

“You’re already close,” George murmurs. George licks his palm and starts to stroke Alex slowly, teasing him. 

“George,” he whines, pushing up into George’s hand. 

“Shh. Don’t you want to enjoy yourself?” George continues to stroke him slowly, twisting his wrist. “I want you to enjoy yourself. Be my good boy and let me take care of you.” George feels a little filthy, and he absolutely loves it.

Alex moans and his hips jerk up spastically. “Fuck,” he gasps. George grins. 

“You like that? You like being my good boy?” George starts to pump his fist faster. 

Alex is chanting George’s name like it’s the only word he knows, and George can tell he’s close. “Come on Alexander, be my sweet good boy. Come for me.” 

Alex comes hard with a loud grunt, gasping George’s name one last time. George catches most of Alex’s come and uses the rest of his napkins to clean up. Alex tucks himself back into his pants and rolls his head over to look at George. He looks beautiful with his lips red and swollen and his pupils blown. 

“That was damn good.” He leans his seat back up and reaches over and pats George’s cheek. “See you Saturday? Next time I’ll make sure to initiate this _before_ we get in the car.”

“Sounds like a plan. I’d rather not make it a habit to jerk each other off in my car. That’s a very easy way to ruin a nice interior.” George gives Alex one last quick peck and watches him disappear inside his building. 

He drives home with a smile on his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed! I'm really loving this AU; it's so fun to write tbh. I will definitely be writing more for this verse, so expect another story sometime soon! As always, comments are very appreciated!!

**Author's Note:**

> This concludes the background for the verse! I hope everything is a little clearer now. I think my next story in this verse is going to be George's background story. So yeah I'm honestly in love with this verse. I like the idea of a George who is more sensitive and a bit of a softy. Also I'm a sucker for tragic backstories, in case you haven't noticed.


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